In the Silence
by kyaracandy
Summary: A series of drabbles centering around Darkspiritshipping and/or Defianceshipping.
1. Haou 01

**A/N**: The shortest thing I've ever submitted onto this site, but I guess I'll just make this fic into a series of drabbles if I ever write any more~

This is Darkspiritshipping from Haou's POV.

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><p>I lie in my grand bed, a single sheet covering me and my hair a mess across the silken pillows. The lethargy of recent sleep weighs down my body, and I can only turn my tired head to gaze blearily at my left arm. He has his own arm on top of mine. My slender fingers are kept warm by his touch, and as I stare, he shifts a little. I can see his honey-colored eyes flicker open for a second, and he sighs, smiles, and interlocks his fingers with mine.<p>

I never understood these little gestures of his, but I am learning to appreciate them. They're unique; they're like nothing I've ever experienced before. To have another living being touch my bare skin… it's a new feeling that I still haven't quite gotten used to, as my arm tenses a little in defensive response to his touch. But soon it relaxes and I close my fingers around his, energy returning to me at his touch. I gather up my courage and give his hand a light squeeze.

This is when he opens his eyes once more and moves his body closer to mine. My first instinct is to move away; I'm bare, only a sheet protecting me. But I stop myself. I'm more drawn to him than I have been to any other person. I've already decided to let him into my shell, and there is no possibility of resisting at this point.

He leans in and kisses my hand softly, and the warmth from it spreads throughout my entire body, into my mind, into my heart.


	2. Hell Johan 01

**A/N**: Thank you so much for your reviews~! eeee hope you enjoy this one. I'm not so good at writing Hell Johan, but I tried my best. ;w;

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><p>I come to him with a request. I kneel before him in his regal splendor, his grand person seated in an ornate throne carved with horrific designs and carrying the scent of death. His darkness and menace presiding, he strikes fear in all whom he lays his eyes on, his subjects falling on their faces to honor him. And yet, I genuflect only as a courtesy, because when he wears that armor, he is no longer mine. He is the property of the world. I know my boundaries, and he knows his.<p>

And yet I still make this simple request, my voice echoing off the abyssal walls. I want him to accompany me to the far corner of this realm. Just for today, just us together. I simply want him to myself once again, this desire seizing my insides and twisting them around into an anxious knot. I express this, throwing my feelings without caution, into the face of the supreme king. His cold, cold eyes show no sign of recognizing me, and it hurts… but only a little. Suffering is only an end result of our misfortunate, dark, and fatefully intertwined lives.

He steps down from his royal pedestal, each footstep the sound of a stake driven deeper and deeper into my chest. From my lowered view, I can only see his boots, black and cruelly pointed. Yes, even in myself, there is just a little bit of fear.

"I accept."

Disbelief and relief and disbelief and more relief. I stand up. I bring him into my arms, and I can feel his warm body pressed against my own, and I swear I can even feel the faint _thump, thump_ of his heart through his pitch-black metal shell.

His helmet falls to the floor. I am now in his embrace. The spell is broken.


	3. Haou 02

**A/N**: Well if this had a title, it would be "post-existence", uhh. Sorry it's so weird.

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><p>I'm hugging my knees to my chest. Maybe I'm not. Which way is up? My blood, my senses, my entire nervous system, nothing is helpful in ascertaining the direction of gravity. Everything is black, blacker than the lack of light itself, as if light had choked and died and blipped out of existence. I can't see, I can't feel, I can't hear anything. But there is a deeper sort of sense within me that tells me I exist, that I am somewhere and someone.<p>

This is the sense that tells me I'm not alone. A feeling like a gentle caress washes over me after some time, though it is impossible to tell if time has passed at all.

_I'm dead too._

The voice reverberates through my being. I'm dead? How is this possible? There was a light… I must have died in the light. A crushing desire for revenge momentarily presses on me but slowly releases as the voice appears again, more ominous than before.

_We don't really exist now._

I, the ruler of the dark world, ironically know so little about death. I curse and the mental message shoots off in all directions. "How is it that I am aware of myself?"

_We're memories now. We exist to serve only other people's minds. When they die, our existences likewise discontinue._

I remain silent, as I am wont to do. This voice seems all too familiar. I try to ignore it, but there is a prickling feeling that wells up and disperses through this plane of memories. I want to be alone, as I have always been, and yet…

_We'll always be together this way, Haou._

I am not alone. It feels so strange to have this feeling. I chuckle bitterly. Such is the fate of a tyrant, to know happiness only after his own life ends.


	4. Hell Johan 02

Bits of broken pottery lie across the stones, sharp enough to slice flesh into ribbons, sharp enough to deter any trespassers. They are his new castle, the physical force field he has built around in himself. They lie like the remnants of a terrible storm, pieces of once-held hopes and painstaking care, the same care I take when coming closer to him.

He sits at his misshapen throne, the overhanging curtains rags around his person. They are black, sheer; they carry the air of a funeral but the contentment of a king. His face is hidden behind his fingers, his scraggly hair falling over them in muddy rivers.

I am afraid. I am afraid of his distress. The wounds from before still throb, a "reminder", he said, of things that were not meant to be done. Things that opposed his darkness. The old pain returns, it aches, it screams. My breathing becomes labored, my body responding to the deep, deep gash in my mind.

I swallow and let out my breath slowly and silently. I cannot be afraid. He is a fallen ruler, no longer in control but a slave to himself, subservient to the searing emotions inside of him. He needs someone. He needs me. I'm here, I tell him, to ease his pain.

His metal glove makes hard contact. I can feel the rancid air stinging and biting at the fresh cut on my face. I breathe again and choke down my terror. This will just be another wound of many, I tell myself, and they are nothing compared to the wounds he feels like bruises, infections on his psyche. The warm blood trickles down my cheek, and it feels like a burning tear.

I will help him. I will bear his hardships. His fear, insecurity, and anger are written in my blood.

I will feel his pain for him.


	5. Haou 03

It feels disgusting. I feel dirty, tainted, my very soul soiled by this unplaceable feeling; it gnaws at my stomach and my chest, my stability beginning to atrophy from its poison. I don't understand. I want put my hand right into my chest and rip out that beating organ humans say is responsible for this. I want to hold it, cradle it, crush it in my grip. It is the only thing in this realm which escapes my control.

_I love you, Haou_.

Is that what this emotion is called? It is so unpleasant and unfamiliar. I don't understand why humans would want this so much, this pain of uncertainty, this impulse of weakness. I scream. I'm not supreme. I'm not a king. I'm not even an excuse for a resident of my world, which is slowly slipping out of my fingers as this grime worms its way into my mind.

What are these? My face is suddenly warm. My eyes bother me. I'm so angry, so uncomfortable. It's wet. It's hot, then cold; it's sad, then pleasant. It's so confusing. I don't know.

I-

I want to repeat those words. Are they a symbol of status? Are they a magic spell, intent to drive your opponent mad? Are they offensive? Defensive?

I have to ask. I'll swallow this, swallow everything, until I can finally understand what this is. I will bow to him, as I have never done. It will make me stronger.


	6. Hell Johan 03

I reach out my fingers gently. They're brushing his cheek, they're moving a piece of his hair behind his ear, they're intertwining themselves with his own. His skin is weightless. His body is transparent. His words are silent.

I know he is somewhere. He's grieving, the thick, hot tears streaming down his face, his shock of hair knotted and snarled as it catches on his metal gloves, his eyes like death. Every pinprick in the distance is him again, and as I run toward each one, they melt into the background. Colors swim around my vision, and the world seems unreal. He's here in front of me, silently weeping. I'm holding him as the air hardens and forms his shape.

The twist in my chest bends further and further around, spirals into tight knot. I miss the warmth he showed me. I lift my head and look at the celestial token ripping a bright seam into the sky. It burns into sight. It burns as brightly as his eyes did when he looked at me.

Those unforgettable eyes.

When will I reach him? When will this cease to be an illusion? When will I show him the strength of his own heart?

When will he realize he does have a heart?


	7. Haou 04

Apathy, _apathy_. Worlds. Music. Sinister, swirling colors in the shade of sky-kissing towers. Apathy. A pulse, a firm beat of the heart, and lightning. A luminescence in the darkness, a flickering mosaic of candlelight against the stony walls. Apathy. Frozen tears and sleepless nights. A shining sore on the sky's body, a generator humming to the tune of the pulse. Apathy.

Sounds and scratches and wounds, shattering glass. A burning throat and spent voices, a broken whisper. A drop of ruby blood like a dark crystal. Cracks in the wall, and an impact as loud as a thunderclap. Apathy? A silhouette, impaled on a cruel pike. The stench of death, another skull in the heap below the throne.

Fires and tears and great, strong bellows, winds like razor knives and razor knives like winds whipping across pale skin. Blood discolored, black and vile like sludge, congealing and sticking and bonding and black as night. A sword in the hand. A… pathy? Faceless and writhing, melting, but unfeeling. Chills. Ice. Frozen.

A hand?

_Apa_…

I'll take it.

..._thy_.

Thawing in the warmth of the touch. Open doors and wafting scents, a glimmer of something in the sky, a gem of the heavens. Warm tears, warm nights, warm and entangled limbs. A soul like sunshine, and a racing heart. Dark colors cowering in the shadows, bright colors embracing the spires. Music. Worlds. Happiness.


	8. Hell Johan 04

I'm evil now, aren't I?

My bare arms barely feel the cold anymore. This tunic is already tightly molded to my body, and it seems so familiar. Have I worn it before?

The moment it was bestowed upon me, I felt a chill down my spine. I have no memories of this place, this time, but this clothing… it brings back faint glimpses of death, of dragons, mutations, love, wrath, twisted- My head is clouded with the heady iron perfumes of it; my body is writhing beneath the folds, the buckles. My heart is no longer mine. It's his.

My mind? Oh, I'm losing it. I'm sure I'm losing it. I keep helping him, waiting on him, consoling him, and he looks at me with cold, dead eyes and adds another wound to my exposed skin, tears a hole in the garments he gave me.

My sense of self. I can't tell if I'm evil or good.

Is he good or evil?

Maybe if I can brighten those eyes, maybe if I can get him to move toward me, maybe if I can save him… maybe I can save myself too.


	9. Haou 05

_What is a heart but not for the bloodstream?_ I ask you. My voice is strained, strange, stranded. It's higher than I remember. It vibrates more than I remember. It slides chunkily from my throat, clumsy and unsure.

For an unknown reason, the smoothness of your voice irritates me. Flames of unrest spark in my chest. How long have I been here, listening to your ridiculous speeches and watching your jarring gestures, how long will it be until you will cease to ridicule my vast and eternal wealth of knowledge? From an eternity or two of existence, I can tell that "matters of the heart" don't exist. The heart is a vital organ, not a tool of the chemical emotions.

What is this? I said matters of the heart didn't exist, did I not? Stop insisting on it. Stop trying to make me look like a fool. You would never understand the pain and confusion you have managed to put me through. The world's biggest fool is you, and you are going to suffer the pain of a thousand poisons for it.

You'll never understand my pain.

Stop saying you do. Don't touch me. No.

For millennia upon millennia, I have not shed a single tear. Why have you chosen to break this record? This pressure in my chest isn't a heart. It's a buildup of… something. I can't explain it.

I really hate to admit it, but this is unfamiliar.

I really hate to admit it, but you understand this more than I do. Otherwise I wouldn't be asking you questions.

_What is a heart but not for love?_ you ask me.


	10. Hell Johan 05

It's my turn.

I said I would bear his pain for him, and it's like a stake through my chest as he stands here, shivering and very unlike a warlord, just a thin and pale figure alone in his armored shell. He's pitiful and torn, but what can I do?

I can't reach out to him, or he will push me away. I can't do these things I want to do for him, as he sits there, most likely ashamed I'm watching his crystal tears make patterns on the floor but too ashamed to force me to leave. I've seen him like this before, but how do I solve this?

No, it's my turn to feel bad. _You don't deserve this anymore_, I say as I do the unthinkable.

I would rather my embrace be the weight on his chest than his misery.


	11. Haou 06

A/N: If you're wondering about eye color, this fic has slowly been transforming into Haou/crystal beast!Johan over the past few chapters, heh. Not even sorry, because that ship inspires me so much.

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><p><em>Hey.<em>

I stare blankly at the ornate ceiling, my head resting on a pillow.

_Wake up._

My chest hurts a little. I feel hollow; there's nothing left inside of me. I breathe just to fill up the spaces in my body.

_It's not real._

Everything on my body stings, especially the corners of my eyes. I feel infinitely tired, reclining in lively death, or deathly animation. I become aware of the air entering me, chilling my empty lungs, and leaving again. I'm unable to move, my limbs weighed down, only a slow trickle of life inching along the veins and arteries. Shallow, shallow breaths. I'm about to die, right?

_It's okay. It never happened._

Glassy green eyes and a shock of blue hair. I'm really hallucinating, aren't I? My life, or whatever it's managed to amount to, is becoming a caricature to ridicule me. He was important to me once. I suppose I deserved that.

_You're having a nightmare._

Just to see, I flip on the switch, my cells light up, and my arm begins to move, my muscles drinking in energy, energy formed from that wonderful vision in front of me. My fingers are surprised to touch skin, hair. They're softer than I imagined. More real. Tangible. Definitely more genuine than the icy air passing through me.

He is the one and only thing in this universe that is not a vision of my tired mind.


	12. Hell Johan 06

My arms refuse to let you go. A haze has settled, and I can barely see amid the pinks and purples and blues clouding the world. But seeing is unnecessary to feel the color of your hair against my cheek, an earthy brown that scratches, fuzzy in its freedom, fluttering in the wake of my breath.

My breath and yours, aren't they warm? I drink in the colors and sigh a long, satisfied sigh. It was difficult, but we can breathe now, I tell you wordlessly.

Your body shifts ever so slightly and I wonder how long it has been since you've felt someone else so close to you. I'm probably a far cry from the icy iron scales you used to wear. It's a phenomenon of nature, of producing one's own heat from energy and growing, breathing, feeling, living. Maybe you'll learn fully of this world someday. Momentarily, I feel a pang of the old pain as you move again, your body stiff and growing cold, but it eases away with the passing minutes. My arms close around you more tightly.

Yes, we still have a long, long way to go, but this alone could tell you more than I ever could in words.


End file.
